


la tua cantante

by sodium_amytal



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Bloodthirst, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy reaches out and takes Robert's nearest wrist between his thin fingers. Robert's skin is burning hot, and he has to feel how frigid Jimmy's own is against him. Robert twitches like he wants to pull away, but he lets Jimmy lay his warm hand over his chest. His fingers splay along the curve of Jimmy's throat where the thrum of a pulse would beat beneath thin, fragile skin. Jimmy is cold and unyielding, like a stone. His dead heart no longer thumps in his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	la tua cantante

_In all the darkest pages of the malign supernatural, there is no more terrible tradition than that of the vampire - a pariah even among demons._

Montague Summers

* * *

 The entire mess is Jimmy's fault.

He's not sure how it happened or why a human was traipsing through his hunting grounds in the first place. All Jimmy remembers is the quick updraft of something irresistible—the sweetest blood he's ever smelled—then the taste of it on his tongue. Practice and discipline are abstract concepts under the gush of blood in his mouth. The taste crashes through his senses like a wrecking ball. He barely registers the poor sod struggling in his iron arms.

Fragile hands claw at his grip, and Jimmy gains a precious second of clarity. He's not a monster. Despite the thirst for blood, Jimmy doesn't hunt people; animals bleed, too. It's not the most ideal solution, but it keeps a vampire under the social radar. He hasn't tasted human blood once. Not until this aggravating mortal crossed paths with him and altered both their lives forever.

Jimmy wrenches away from the throat of his meal, reviled by his loathsome instincts. The victim slumps into the grass and covers his neck, as if that might stem the bleeding. Jimmy moves to kneel at his side, to offer whatever he can, to mend the damage done by his wretched mouth. The victim is a tall, wiry thing—too old to be a boy, too young to be a man—with curly golden locks. Jimmy moves the boy's hands from his bleeding neck and inspects the damage.

His throat is a total goner. The sweet scent of his blood saturates every particle of air around them. Jimmy stops breathing; his dead lungs no longer need oxygen, but it's an instinct now. Uncomfortable, but manageable. He can taste the memory of blood on his tongue, in the back of his throat.

The only way Jimmy knows to stop the bleeding is by sealing the wound with venom. Putting his mouth all over that delicious nectar and fighting every urge to finish him off.

He's running out of time. The poor bloke will bleed out on the grass before Jimmy gets his shit together. Jimmy holds him still and latches his mouth over the wound.

Blood burns in a sweet bloom over his tongue. Venom pools in his mouth, an almost salivating response to the honey hitting his taste buds. Jimmy brushes his mouth over the gash, letting the venom seal the wound shut. Every instinct tells him to drain the boy dry. Jimmy shakes with fettered need, every nerve on edge, because he's so fucking  _close_. But he doesn't want to be a killer. He has to be better than this.

Jimmy takes the boy's wrist between his fingers and bites into the veins there. He ignores the flood of euphoria on his tongue as the venom burns the holes shut. He does the same to the other wrist, pushing the poison through his veins at as many points as possible. The struggle against his instincts takes all the willpower he has, all the willpower he'll have for the rest of the year. Thirst burns his throat like an inferno.

Jimmy can't push this any further if he wants to save him. All he can do now is wait for the venom to take effect. He sits in the grass beside the body, frowns at the human's matted, bloody curls. Poor bastard. It's sophistry to think Jimmy's any less of a monster for sentencing this boy to a life of eternal misery and thirst than he would've been if he'd just killed him.

Jimmy remembers the bewildering, burning pain of his own transformation. He'd felt as though he'd been tied to a pyre. It's a good thing they're far out from civilization, and the thought makes Jimmy laugh a breathy, hysterical sound. He really shouldn't. He's an awful person—er, vampire.

He finds his footing on shaky legs, hauls the body into his arms and carries him into the house.

* * *

Jimmy learns his new friend's name is Robert. After cleaning him up and settling him onto a creaky, worn mattress in one of the guest bedrooms, Jimmy rifles through the human's personal effects, curious about the life he's wrecked. While Jimmy's forever frozen at 24, Robert's a mere 20 years old. Such a waste of youth, Jimmy thinks.

The address on Robert's ID card says he lives in Stourport. So what the hell is he doing all the way out here in Hampshire? Jimmy makes a mental note to ask Robert about that when he wakes, wonders why it even matters.

Other than the ID card, Robert's wallet holds nothing more to shed light on his new companion—or enemy. Odds are the guy's not gonna be too happy about becoming a vampire. Jimmy might have to fight him, and newborn vampires' strength is off the charts.

Everything about this is just awful. Jimmy hates his life.

He drags a chair across the floor and sits at Robert's bedside, a silent sentinel to his agony. After a while, Jimmy's vision starts to blur around the edges. He feels woozy, like he might collapse if not sitting down. The taste of blood sticks in his throat, and the whole world smells sickly sweet. His eyes can't focus on anything. He can already feel the panicked breath rasping down his throat. What the fuck is happening to him?

His stomach curls, somehow tight and loose all at once. Jimmy knows what's coming next. He's out the door, dashing across the green. That's when the sickness hits, and he feels the earth under his hands, individual blades of dewy grass fisted in his fingers. Then he's retching bile into the grass.

He doesn't know how he manages to stay conscious for it. His insides feel like they're on fire. He chokes out a sputter of something wet, and Jimmy's pretty sure he's dying. The world's a fog of nausea and fire, like he's melting from the inside out. Being dead would feel better than this.

He doesn't die. There's a yawning chasm of blackness, then Jimmy comes to in the meadow under a dark, starry sky. He remembers a cover of clouds before he checked out, and, God, what the fuck  _was_  that? Is that dreadful sickness what human blood does to a vampire's body? That's ridiculously counterproductive, Jimmy thinks. Or perhaps his body's so used to animal blood that anything else racks his system like poison.

He isn't sure if he'll be able to move without crashing all over the place like a clumsy ox. But he manages to stagger to his feet and get inside the house. Robert makes a whining noise in his throat that crescendos into a horrible, strangled burst of pain. The heat's licking its way through his veins now. Jimmy winces at the timbre of his cries and the unfairness of it all. Robert reaches up to claw at his chest, as if ripping his own heart out could stop the torture.

Jimmy sits at his bedside and lays a hand over Robert's own. "That won't help."

Robert gazes at him with wide, horror-stricken eyes. What a pretty blue. It's a shame he won't have them very long. "Can you make it stop? You have to make it stop," he rasps.

"I can't."

"You  _can't_? What kind of doctor are you?"

Jimmy frowns. "I'm not a doctor, but what you're feeling now... I know that pain. I've endured it. Survived, even. So you're going to listen to me and do exactly as I say."

Robert nods slowly, keeping his eyes on Jimmy. One of his shaky hands reaches up and feathers his fingers over the laceration in his throat. He loses a bit of color. "Oh, oh, oh, God, what—what is that—"

"It's nothing. Ignore it." Which probably isn't the most reassuring thing to say.

"How exactly does one ignore a bloody hole in his neck?"

"By not touching it"—Jimmy guides Robert's hand away from his throat—"and thinking about something else. What's the last thing you remember?"

Robert's abandoned stoicism completely in favor of gripping at the sides of the bed. He squeezes his eyes shut. "The meadow," he grits through his teeth. He takes a few deep, shuddery breaths. "Where are we?"

For a guy practically burning alive, he's got most of his wits about him. The pain must still be in its early stages. "Headley Grange," Jimmy says.

"Oh, right... There was something cold," Robert continues. "Pure ice. Then pain—" The rest of that sentence is subsumed in a cough. He chokes a sob that leaves a gutted sort of feeling in Jimmy's empty, shuddery stomach. "Do I—do I need a hospital?"

"There's no antidote for the poison inside you. All you can do is endure it and let it burn out. Or kill you." Best to save the "you're a vampire" talk for later when Robert's a little more relaxed.

"Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired," Robert grumbles.

Jimmy shrugs as if to say "what can you do?"

"You said I was poisoned? How?"

"You were... bitten," Jimmy mumbles.

Robert thinks that over for a moment. He raises his hand to the laceration again. Jimmy can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he puts the pieces together. "A snake?"

"Not quite." Jimmy doesn't want to play a guessing game here. But Robert seems so intent on solving this conundrum his focus blotted out the fire in his veins. It's as though the pain comes second to his curiousity.

"Then what?" He feathers his fingers over the mangled skin of his throat. His body's shaking like it's trying to jump-start him back to life, but Robert's watching Jimmy, on an entirely different plane now. His eyes search Jimmy's face for something, a clue to the tremor under his skin. Jimmy wants to move away under the gaze, because he did this. He did this, and there's no way to undo it.

Robert's eyes find a point of reference just below Jimmy's chin. His brow creases. It's enough to make Jimmy feel pinned beneath the wide-eyed stare of shock and disbelief. One word shudders out through Robert's lips: "You."

Jimmy blinks, panicked that Robert's read the guilt etched onto his countenance. But Robert isn't looking at Jimmy's face. Jimmy follows Robert's gaze and feels like the floor's dropped out from underneath him. His shirt is stained with blood in all the wrong places, enough to be incriminating.

"You're fast, and strong... and cold," Robert murmurs. "You bite, and drink blood... And the poison..." Their eyes meet, and Jimmy feels a jolt. "Are you a vampire?"

Crap. Jimmy's body laughs when it doesn't mean to at all, a nervous, jittery sound. "You're delirious with pain, Robert. You don't know what you're talking about." It's the first time Jimmy's said his name. It doesn't sound like it belongs in his mouth after what he's done.

Robert grits his teeth and rides through another wave of agonized shudders. "How do you know my name?"

"I rifled through your pockets." Telling the truth feels preferable to admitting he's a vampire who drank Robert's blood and turned him into one, too.

"So you're a vampire with no concept of personal boundaries?" Robert huffs, like he's put out he's found the one vampire who's also a snoop.

"I'm not a—" Jimmy starts to protest before he cuts himself off. There's no point in lying to him. The pain seems to make Robert's thoughts sharper somehow, as if he's gaining clarity the more he suffers. The opposite desired effect, really. Jimmy would've preferred Robert piece things together once he awoke cold and pale with a thirst raking his throat.

Jimmy grates out a sigh and starts over. "I thought I ought to know the name of the human with the sweetest blood I've ever smelled."

Robert breathes in a quick rush of air. "Oh my God. I suppose that's meant to be flattering?"

"Well, yes."

Robert stares at nothing in particular, but Jimmy can see the terror in his eyes. His body shakes like he wants to jump out of his own skin. "You're lying. You can't—You can't be—Vampires aren't even real."

Jimmy reaches out and takes Robert's nearest wrist between his thin fingers. Robert's skin is burning hot, and he has to feel how frigid Jimmy's own is against him. Robert twitches like he wants to pull away, but he lets Jimmy lay his warm hand over his chest. His fingers splay along the curve of Jimmy's throat where the thrum of a pulse would beat beneath thin, fragile skin. Jimmy is cold and unyielding, like a stone. His dead heart no longer thumps in his chest. He watches Robert's eyes, and he sees the realization sink in.

Robert's hand falls away, limp and unresponsive, and the worst of the pain sets in. He pulls himself deeper into the bed, takes the endless burn by rolling onto his side and burying his face in the pillow. Robert's making rough, helpless gasping noises, trying his best not to scream, but Jimmy can tell he wants to. The edges of the wound in Robert's throat are beginning to heal, a slow regeneration of skin. It's doubtful if Robert even notices, too honed in on being charred alive.

They don't talk for a while after that; it's hard to have a conversation when the other person's shrieking and thrashing.

* * *

Jimmy doesn't know how much time has passed once Robert's gone quiet and loose in the bed. He's watched the laceration heal in gradual steps until Robert's throat is smooth and flawless. No evidence of Jimmy's bloodlust on his flesh.

Had Jimmy known it would be like this... Hell, he still would've bitten Robert. There's no way Jimmy could have left that scent alone. He would comb the planet for it once he knew it existed. No matter the steps Jimmy might have taken, they would always end up with Robert's blood on Jimmy's tongue. The only difference here is that he stopped. Instead of draining him dry, Jimmy turned him into an abomination. A monster.

Robert's got every right to hate him for it; Jimmy expects nothing less.

Jimmy just watches him in the darkness. He doesn't know how to apologize, if anything exists to serve as adequate penance. Because it's not just humanity Jimmy stole from him—it's life itself. Robert can't return to his normal life now that he's a creature damned to walk the night. His skin will always be paler than it ought to be, his eyes a fierce red until the bloodthirst wanes. His skin will be frigid to the touch, his strength and speed unimaginable. He'll never need to sleep or eat again. All human functions ceased for eternity.

And he had absolutely no say in the matter.

Jimmy shuts his eyes in disgust. He moves to rise from his chair when Robert's eyes snap open. "Where are you going?" he croaks out, his vocal cords shot from screeching.

Jimmy isn't sure how to answer that. "Out" is a little vague, but that's what he goes with.

Worry flickers over Robert's face. "Don't—don't go..." Sweat trickles down his brow and into his eyes. He reaches out for Jimmy's wrist, and Jimmy feels the scorch of his skin. Tentatively, Jimmy lays his hand over Robert's blazing cheek. Robert's eyes close in bliss. Jimmy doesn't know how Robert can feel the cool. The fire ought to have blistered away any comfort he might find in the ice of Jimmy's touch. But he must feel it, because he's sinking into the mattress like he's a balloon with a slow leak.

That's when Robert reaches down and pulls his sweat-soaked t-shirt over his head. Jimmy sucks in a breath, his nostrils flaring at the alien surge in his veins. He doesn't have time to think about it or what it might mean. Robert pulls Jimmy's freezing body into the bed and plasters them together. "What are you doing?" Jimmy gasps out, but he knows; he just wants to hear Robert explain it.

"I feel like a pile of charred bones," Robert growls out. He's fighting with Jimmy's clothes in an attempt to expose his icy skin. "I'm going to combust. Surely your super-senses must have picked that up."

"You won't overheat," Jimmy says, mostly naked now. Robert gets his hands around Jimmy's waist and holds him impossibly close. Robert's an inferno against him, and he's currently kicking his way out of his jeans, and, God, why? "Please, keep those on—" The jeans have been abandoned on the side of the bed.

"I don't care _, I don't care_ ," Robert growls, pressing his face against Jimmy's chest. "I won't apologize for not wanting to burst into flames. I'm incapable of caring how this looks until I don't feel like a charcoal briquette anymore."

Jimmy sighs into the golden fluff of Robert's hair. He can smell the aroma of Robert's blood growing fainter by the hour. Thirst burns in Jimmy's throat, though there's nothing he can do to quench it. Biting Robert again will bear no delicious, coppery fruits.

"I didn't have the luxury of an ice pack during my transformation," Jimmy grumbles. Vampires these days have it so much easier.

Robert makes a noise like he wants to argue with that, but instead he says, "You were bitten too?"

Jimmy hums an affirmative sound.

"How long have you... been like this?" Robert seems to be avoiding the word altogether now.

"Mere months. It feels like an eternity." Jimmy wonders if they ought to be having a conversation while engaged in this much touching. But this is the most contact—human or non-human—he's had since the bite, so he's going with it, awkwardness and all.

There's a short stretch of silence, then: "I'm turning into one too, aren't I?"

Jimmy finds his voice long enough to say, "Yes." Then, he adds, "I'm sorry," because he is.

Robert's fingers curl at Jimmy's waist. "Why didn't you just kill me?" It doesn't sound like a plea, more like a curiosity, but it still hits Jimmy like a gut punch. "You could'a drank all my blood and avoided this whole mess. Why did you stop?"

"I don't know," Jimmy says, and it's true. He searches for an explanation. "I don't want to be a monster."

"You'd rather turn me into one."

Jimmy winces at that, but it's not like he doesn't deserve it. And it's not like Robert's  _wrong_ , exactly. "I've never tasted human blood before," he admits.

"So what  _do_  you eat?"

"Animals."

"You can do that?"

"Apparently so. I actually prefer it, considering how my body reacted to your blood..."

Robert hears the subtext there. "I made you sick?" There's a curl of a smile to it, like he's amused by the idea.

"It was like I'd been poisoned."

"Serves you right," Robert grumbles over Jimmy's skin.

Jimmy breathes out a quiet laugh. What a fascinating creature this boy is.

* * *

Jimmy doesn't sleep, so he has no choice but to watch the transformation beset Robert's fragile, human body with pain Jimmy remembers too vividly. But Robert's handling it with as much grace as can be expected. Jimmy lets him dig his nails in and grapple at his stone limbs until exhaustion takes over and pulls Robert into a black, dreamless sleep. Jimmy watches Robert's skin grow paler and clearer, changing minutely as time stretches on.

When daylight breaks, Jimmy can hear the way Robert's heart sprints behind his ribs. He lays an icy hand over Robert's chest, hoping to offer some form of comfort against the blazing fire. Robert chokes out a pained sound, his back arching up as if someone were pulling him by a string. "It's almost over," Jimmy murmurs, though that doesn't seem to offer much relief. Robert whines and forces himself to stay still. His torso slumps onto the bed as his legs writhe and curl in the sheets.

Jimmy hears Robert's heartbeat accelerate, his cries of pain crescendo, then a hollow thud from inside his chest. Robert's heart stutters and stops.

For a moment, there's only silence, a stillness that fills the room like a tangible thing. Robert's eyelids flutter open, revealing crimson irises; Jimmy can't wait for the bloodlust to wane and his beautiful blue eyes to return.

"How do you feel?" Jimmy asks.

Robert stares at him in wonder, his senses enhanced and overwhelmed by the bright, buzzing new world. He blinks. "The pain is gone."

Jimmy chuckles. His hand still lingers over Robert's chest. He taps his fingers there and says, "We're the same temperature now."

Robert smiles at the humor and raises a hand to his throat, fingers feathering over the phantom wound there. "It's gone."

Jimmy nods. "You healed."

Robert holds his hands out and examines them in the dim light filtering in through the drapes. "Will I really die if I step into the sunlight?"

"No. At least, not immediately. It feels like radiation sickness. Dizziness, nausea, the whole lot. Most of the old legends are bollocks, though I haven't tested holy water yet."

Robert frowns, stares off at nothing in particular. "I used to love lying in the sun and feeling the warmth on my skin."

"The world is full of things you can't do anymore."

Jimmy regrets saying that, because Robert looks like he's just witnessed someone hurting a kitten. "But controlling your thirst will be central to your existence," Jimmy adds. "We should hunt."

Robert's eyes go wide. "What?" He sits up and stares at Jimmy in bewilderment. "Hunt? For animals?"

"Feeding on humans tends to cause more of a fiasco than I prefer to deal with," Jimmy says, stone-faced. Robert's brow creases. "Yes, of course, hunting for animals."

Robert lifts a hand to his throat, as if trying to smother the ache from the outside.

"You're thirsty." Jimmy rises from his seat and heads for the door. He doesn't hear the bedsprings creak or any sort of noise that indicates Robert's following him. "Are you coming?"

"Sorry," Robert murmurs, slinging his feet over the side of the bed and catching up to Jimmy.

Jimmy gives him flat eyes and tries not to ogle how lean and wiry he is. "You might want to put some clothes on."

Robert looks down, sees that he's naked save for his underwear. "Oops."

This is going to be a long eternity.

* * *

"So, what's your name?" Robert asks as Jimmy leads him through the thick jade maze of the forest. "I can't call you 'Vampire Bloke' in my head anymore, since I'm one too." They're walking because Jimmy wants Robert to acclimate to his new body, learn how his limbs work with their newfound precision, strength, and speed. Robert would absolutely be the type to dart off and crash into a tree.

That sounds hilarious; Jimmy should totally let him do that.

"I'm amazed it took you this long to ask me," Jimmy says, because he's kind of a dick.

"'M sorry, I had more important things to think about, like 'I'm becoming a vampire.'"

Jimmy snorts amusement. "Jimmy Page," he says, answering Robert's question.

Robert laughs a light, airy sound. Jimmy isn't sure why; there's nothing particularly humorous about his name.

"What?"

"You don't look like a Jimmy. You look like you may have  _eaten_  a Jimmy at some point."

Jimmy gives him the meanest glare he can; Robert isn't even looking at him, so the effort's wasted.

"You ought to go by James now that you're a vampire, don't you think? James Page sounds dark and mysterious, I suppose."

"Because Robert Plant is so much better," Jimmy grouses.

"Robert is a king's name," Robert shoots back.

Jimmy rolls his eyes. "So is James." Clearly, Robert's just going to annoy the shit out of Jimmy forever. Wonderful. This is exactly how Jimmy wanted to spend the rest of his existence.

"But you're not going by James. Jimmy is not a suitable vampire name," Robert insists. "Jimmy is an obnoxious, mouth-breathing grammar school bloke who steals all your biscuits at lunch time—"

"Do you  _ever_  stop talking?" Jimmy wonders aloud.

Robert looks over at him. "You're very grumpy for a vampire." He stares at Jimmy's face for a moment, as if seeing something that wasn't there before. "Your eyes've gone darker."

"We're not hunting only for your sake," Jimmy says.

Robert hears the subtext there. "Your eyes change color when you're"—he searches for the appropriate word—"hungry?"

" _Our_  eyes do, yes."

"Sorry. It hasn't quite sunk in yet. I don't feel like a vampire." Robert slows his pace to admire the flora. The thick cover of trees keeps them shielded from the worst of the sun's rays, but fingers of light break through the trees like spotlights. "I feel much like myself, just... enhanced. I can see every little leaf on the branches of every tree. I can see every blade of grass, every stone and pebble underfoot. It's fascinating."

Jimmy wants to roll his eyes at Robert's naïve wonder, but it's actually kind of endearing.

"And I can hear everything," Robert continues. "The birds in the trees, the fluttering leaves, the breeze over the grass..."

"What do you smell?"

Robert closes his eyes, his mouth quirked in a way Jimmy might find endearing. The breeze blows again, just enough to push the scent in their direction. It takes a moment for Robert to identify it, but when he does his eyes snap open. "What is it?"

"Deer." Robert gives Jimmy a worried look, like he doesn't know what to do. "Follow it," Jimmy says. Christ, if Robert's one of those peace-and-love hippie types who can't fathom eating animals—

Robert starts in the direction of the scent, but he's not moving very fast. Jimmy groans and drags a hand over his face. "You can run, you know."

Robert hesitates for a moment, then he's gone, as if shot out of a cannon. He's strong, able to bound through the web of green with fewer strides, but Jimmy's fast, and it doesn't take long before Jimmy catches up to him. Robert's zig-zagging through the forest, his peals of delighted laughter bouncing off of the trees. "This is fun!" he calls, turning his head to glance back at Jimmy, who's lagging slightly behind.

Jimmy's half-worried Robert's going to plough straight into a tree, but his new sense of equilibrium ought to diminish that possibility. Robert is enjoying this way too goddamn much.

They find the deer drinking from a brook and hunker down behind a boulder. "Just trust your instincts," Jimmy murmurs. "He can't outrun you anyway."

Robert considers this for a moment, then he vanishes in a jean-clad blur. He moves with a strange beauty, as if he's never been particularly graceful before. The deer is no match for Robert's strength and speed. Its jugular spurts hot and red under the piercing bite of teeth. Robert takes it down, feeding on the blood gushing from its throat. Not bad for a first-timer.

"Don't get greedy, now," Jimmy chides, joining Robert over their meal. Robert pulls away, and Jimmy moves in to feed. The blood quenches his parched throat, his body craving sustenance.

Robert wipes his messy mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture Jimmy finds impossibly arousing. "That was exciting!"

Jimmy snorts a laugh. "I imagined you would have put up more of a protest, looking so much like a hippie."

Robert casts a forlorn glance at the deer carcass. "I don't like killing animals, but I suppose it's better than letting them overpopulate and starve to death. Before civilization came about, hunting for food wasn't uncommon. My mate Maureen is from India, and most of her recipes involve lamb. Delicious, but it costs a mint."

While they're walking back to the cabin, Robert takes the time to admire the thicket of trees surrounding them. "It's fantastic, isn't it? How much more there is to see. It's as if the world's become infinitely more interesting, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I wouldn't," Jimmy says. "This is not the life I would have chosen for myself."

"You wouldn't choose superpowers?" Robert asks, incredulous.

"Not when they come at such a high cost! The thirst for blood, the ever-present temptation of a deliciously-scented human, no longer able to sleep, make love, enjoy a meal or the sun's warmth..." Jimmy gives him a fierce, meaningful look. "It's hell, and superpowers are a poor consolation."

Robert lifts his eyebrows and glances off. "Oh. I suppose I never thought of it that way. But from where I'm standing, you can't convince me that having superpowers is anything less than a plus. I mean, living off animal blood means you'll never worry about having enough pence for the market or cooking supper. The elements don't seem to affect us, so we needn't worry about finding a flat or a home."

Jimmy cannot fucking believe he's hearing this right now.

"All my life, I was clumsy and awkward, but becoming a vampire"—he stumbles a bit around the word—"seems to have made me graceful. And imagine all the things you could do, never needing sleep! Learn a new language, travel the world, teach yourself an instrument, read all the books you never had time for before... The possibilities are limitless!"

Jimmy has to put an end to this ridiculous optimism. "You'll never have children," he snaps, and regrets it a bit once it's out there, because Robert looks immeasurably wounded. "You really think you could make a family with a human? Someone whose very essence tempts you every waking moment? Even if you did manage to find a stupid, witless human who isn't rightfully terrified of what we are, do you think you could manage your strength with her, so you wouldn't crush her bones? Any children you have wouldn't be your own, since all bodily functions are ceased."

Robert looks down at his crotch and frowns. "Oh no. I liked that one."

Jimmy kicks a fallen tree branch out of his path. It snaps like a twig from the force and goes skittering across the forest floor.

"I suppose if I loved someone enough, it wouldn't matter if the child was my own or not," Robert says after a moment.

"And what happens when that precious child skins his knee on the playground? How will his vampire daddy explain why he can't kiss it and make it better?" Jimmy sneers.

"You don't know me," Robert shoots back. "You don't know if I could or not. I think it's rubbish that we have to be a slave to this bloodthirst. Someone ought to have it licked by now, don't you think?"

Jimmy shrugs. "I don't know."

"How many other vampires are there?"

"There's us, and the wretched woman who bit me..."

Robert waits for Jimmy to continue. When Jimmy doesn't, he says, "Is that all? Three?"

"I don't exactly go looking for vampires, Robert. I can't imagine how one would do that, at any rate. We don't seem to be very social creatures." This entire conversation makes his head hurt. He watches Robert, sees that stupid look of hope and wonder on his face. ""I can see it in your eyes. You think this is cool, don't you?"

"Well, a little bit, yes. It's not all roses, but I don't think it's all dark and dreary as you like to believe," Robert counters.

Jimmy makes an aggrieved sound and kicks another tree branch. "You're ridiculous."

"Because I choose to see the world as something bright and beautiful?"

Jimmy shoots him a glare. "Because you're a bloody idiot. Nothing about this life is bright or beautiful."

Robert turns his head and looks at Jimmy with wide eyes. Jimmy feels pinned under his gaze. "If it's so awful to be what we are, then why didn't you let me die?"

There's the million-dollar question. Jimmy presses his lips together, searching for an answer in his head. "I didn't want to be a murderer," he says, but even he can hear how lame it sounds on his tongue.

Robert hears it too, though he doesn't say anything.

* * *

They stay at Headley Grange for a few days while Robert learns Vampirism 101. On the first day, Robert insisted on using the phone to call his girlfriend, because, yeah, she might be wondering why he hasn't come home. Jimmy stood outside, as if giving Robert privacy, but his elevated hearing picked up both sides of the conversation regardless.

Poor Robert.

On the fourth day, Jimmy finds Robert in the enormous study. He's reading a book on Welsh mythology, fully immersed in the experience. Jimmy clears his throat quietly, though he knows Robert's aware of his presence.

"How long do you plan on feigning illness?" Jimmy asks. Robert's claim to his girlfriend had been that he's sick and is staying away to prevent her from catching his ailment.

Robert looks up from the pages; Jimmy visibly winces at the sight of his red eyes. "Not for long, I hope. When do you think I can go back home?"

"This isn't something you  _wait out_ , Robert. You've got a whole new way of life now."

"Why does it have to be different?" Robert pleads.

Jimmy gives him a flat stare. "Because you're a  _vampire_." He really thinks that's a point worth stressing.

Robert sets the book on the nearby endtable and stands up. "I know, I meant why does my life have to be turned completely upside down because of that?"

Jimmy opens his mouth to restate the point but changes his mind. If the fact that Robert's been drinking animal blood the past four days instead of dining on fish and chips hasn't stricken him as strange, well, he might actually be hopeless.

"Sure, my diet's changed, but that shouldn't mean I have to cut myself off from the world and the people I love," Robert explains, pacing around the room. He still seems to think his nervous overflow of energy is a physical demand, not muscle memory of a past life. "Why can't I go back to my flat and live a normal life the best I can?"

Jimmy scrubs a hand over his face. "You haven't been around a human since you were one. Do you really think you'll be able to resist that scent?"

"If it's attached to someone I care about, yes. Just because you made me a monster doesn't mean I have to do monstrous things."

Jimmy feels the words like a gut punch. He asks the question he's been dying to know since Robert showed up in his life: "Why did you come here?"

Robert blinks and glances around the study. "I like to read."

Jimmy sighs. "I mean, why did you come to my home?"

For the first time, Robert actually looks embarrassed. His cheeks no longer flush scarlet, but there's an air of chagrin about him now. He rubs the back of his neck underneath his long hair, looks away. "It—it doesn't matter."

"Tell me," Jimmy says in a voice that leaves no wiggle room.

Robert crosses an arm over his middle, clutches at his elbow in a way that's so unabashedly human. "I was curious..."

When Robert doesn't elaborate, Jimmy says, "About?" It's never this difficult getting Robert to say things; the hard part is shutting him up.

"There's talk, you know," Robert starts. "About this place. About, well,  _you_. Rumor is there's a loony old man in Headley Grange who only comes out at night. Depending on who's telling the story, you eat children, teenagers, or just anyone daft enough to cut through your yard."

Jimmy chuckles humorlessly.

Robert rubs his arm. "I thought I'd take a look. I didn't see the harm, really. I figured whoever lived here was just lonely, misunderstood, you know?"

Jimmy says nothing. Robert had been too carefree, too trusting, and it's bullshit he's been punished for it. Jimmy opens his mouth to apologize but thinks better of it.

Robert studies Jimmy's face for a moment, as if seeing something that wasn't there before. "You've been here alone all these months, haven't you? Just shut in this place, because you're afraid."

Jimmy makes a scoffing sound, but it sounds weak in his own ears.

Robert looks unbearably sad. "You are. You're afraid of yourself, what you might do if you go out there." Before Jimmy can protest, Robert moves closer and takes his hand. Jimmy's instinct is to jerk away from the touch, but something about Robert's imploring gaze makes him keep his hand there. "Why don't we learn how to make a life in that world together? You teach me what you've learned, and maybe I could teach you some things in return. Two heads are better than one, aye?"

The selfless part of Jimmy agrees, wants to help Robert navigate this new, confusing life. The selfish part of him doesn't want Robert to leave, because Robert's the first "friend" he's had in months.

"You bit me, after all," Robert says, teasing. "I'm your problem now."

Jimmy's surprised to hear himself laugh.

* * *

The next day, Robert comes up with a ploy to speak with his girlfriend at Headley Grange while keeping his vampirism under wraps. When Robert tells Jimmy that a human is coming by, Jimmy nearly has a conniption. "You cannot be serious! Inviting a human into a home with two vampires is like..." He searches desperately for an apt comparison. "I can't even think of a metaphor, it's that bloody stupid!"

"I can do this, Jimmy," Robert insists. "You bit me because I was a stranger, but if I were someone you loved, someone you cared about... I think you would have stopped yourself."

Jimmy huffs out an exasperated breath; it seems he only uses his dead lungs in response to something ridiculous Robert's said or done. "But you're a newborn. Everything is so much more intense—sights, smells, sounds, tastes... You're inviting her to a slaughter."

Robert shakes his head, his blond curls bouncing. "She has to see me. She has to see why I'm not coming home. I might be a monster now, but I won't abandon her."

Jimmy thinks this is the stupidest idea ever conceived, but Robert pays his negativity no mind. He's perfectly content believing that wearing sunglasses indoors will hide his red eyes, that he can explain away the icy temperature of his skin as a side effect of some mystery illness.

Good luck with that, Jimmy thinks.

"You have to get used to this," Robert says, his voice going soft, "or you'll never fit back into the human world."

Jimmy wants to argue with that, but what's the point? Maybe it's going to take a disaster to show Robert the harsh truth. So Jimmy acquiesces and gives Robert his way.

Maureen drops by later to speak with Robert. The scent of her blood, while not as appetizing as Robert's had been, hits Jimmy with a jolt. After curtly introducing himself, he slips out the back door to give them privacy—not that Jimmy can't hear their voices anyway. He breathes in the crisp, calm breeze and clears the scent of iron from his nose. He can only imagine how difficult this must be for Robert.

"Drop the charade, Robert," Maureen says once Jimmy's gone. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

"The girl you're seeing. I know you're not really sick." There's a small feminine-sounding gasp, then: "You're so cold..."

"Still think I'm not sick?" Robert says, and Jimmy can almost hear the edge of a pained smile in his voice. "I'm hurt that you think I'd just leave you."

"What else am I supposed to think? You're gone for nearly a week, then you claim you're sick and staying with some mate you've never mentioned before instead of going to the doctor?"

"Jimmy's got medical training," Robert protests. "The sunglasses were his idea, you know, to keep the light out. Makes my eyes hurt."

Jimmy's offended that Robert would give him credit for something so stupid.

Jimmy hears the creak of the floorboards, as if Maureen's shifting her weight from one leg to another. "When do you think you'll be coming home?" she asks.

"I—I don't know. Until I'm well enough."

Maureen sighs. "I'm getting tired of babysitting you, Robert," she says, and even Jimmy feels the effects of that one. "Of always having to support you. You promised you would give up this dream of being a musician and find a respectable job, but here you are, still making excuses."

Jimmy wonders about that.

"Either you come home with me now, or you don't bother at all."

It would be selfish, Jimmy thinks, to step in and tell her that, under his medical opinion, Robert should stay here a few more days to convalesce. Selfish and stupid, because Jimmy's not supposed to be hearing any of this. This is up to Robert.

Robert sputters and says, "You—I can't leave yet, I'm not well."

"If you're so ill, why didn't you go to a hospital?" Maureen asks, and, yeah, Robert doesn't really have a good answer for that.

"I don't like hospitals," Robert says, though it's a flimsy excuse. "Just a few more days, please."

She huffs another angry noise, and there's footsteps on the hardwood. "No. It's over, Robert."

Yikes.

"No, no, please, don't leave," Robert begs, and the agony in his voice cuts through Jimmy's heart like a blade. "You're all I've got."

"Then I guess you have nothing."

The front door shuts as she exits. Jimmy wonders what the best move is here, if he should come in and attempt to offer Robert some comfort or just stay out of the whole thing entirely. It's not his problem. Just because he can hear other people's conversations doesn't mean he ought to intrude on them.

Over the fading noise of a running car engine, Jimmy hears soft sobbing sounds coming from inside. Oh jeez. Robert's eyes no longer shed tears, but the human instinct to cry is still so powerful.

Jimmy decides to give him space and goes off into the woods to hunt. Anything to kill time. He wonders what he should say to Robert, if he should offer words at all. He is, however, amazed and proud that Robert was able to spend time in closed quarters with a human and not tear her throat out. Maybe Robert's onto something with this whole "living amongst the humans" thing he keeps rambling about.

When Jimmy returns to the house, he finds Robert lying in the bed he'd left him in, curled up in the fetal position as if longing to return to the womb. Jimmy thinks of a million different ways to start and dismisses all of them. Instead, he moves closer to the bed and says, "I shouldn't have doubted you. But I'm glad you proved me wrong."

Robert turns over onto his side and looks at Jimmy. He doesn't say anything, but his piercing red eyes communicate everything.

Jimmy sits on the edge of the mattress. "You never told me you were a musician."

Robert's mouth tightens at the edges, like he realizes Jimmy heard every word of his and Maureen's conversation.

"What do you play?"

Robert shifts his head on the pillow. "I sing."

"Are you any good?" Jimmy teases.

"Obviously not," Robert says with a frown, "or I would have been discovered by now."

Jimmy bites his lip, stares at the floor. Tough crowd. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything. I play guitar myself. You might have heard me."

A smile tugs at the corners of Robert's mouth. "You're very good."

"And I have an eternity to become even better. As do you."

Robert might actually smile.

* * *

"Vampires can't get wasted, can they?" Robert asks that evening, pouring himself and Jimmy each a glass of whiskey from the respectably-sized liquor cabinet.

"I haven't had much success," Jimmy says. He accepts the glass Robert hands him, because there's no shame in trying again. He's curled in one of the armchairs in the study, illuminated by the warm glow of the lights.

"You probably weren't doing it right," Robert says dismissively. He takes a long swallow, makes a face.

"A finely-tuned sense of taste is a double-edged sword, Robert."

Robert frowns at the remaining contents of his glass before finishing it off. He turns back to the desk and pours another.

Jimmy just watches him. He knows why Robert's doing this. For a vampire, Robert's ridiculously, painfully human sometimes.

Robert drops into the chair beside Jimmy, holding his glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. He lifts the glass to his lips. Jimmy hears the ice cubes clink together.

Jimmy isn't sure if he should say anything, try to soothe Robert's ailing spirit. Why should Jimmy's words even matter anyway? He's just the reason Robert lost his girlfriend. No big deal or anything. Aside from that, they're totally best friends for life.

Jimmy's mouth pulls into a frown.

He should say something. He should try to be supportive, at least. Robert won't listen to him now, not while the pain is still raw, but later he'll remember Jimmy tried to reach out. Besides, if Robert blamed Jimmy for this, he wouldn't be here drinking his whiskey and staying in his home. He's stubborn enough to go out on his own if he felt that Jimmy had wronged him somehow.

Jimmy glances over at Robert, who's pouring himself another glass. "You know, as much as being broken up with hurts, being alone is much worse."

Robert's hand stills, his gaze dropping to his glass. For a moment, Jimmy fears as if he's overstepped his boundaries. Robert looks up at Jimmy with an acute sadness, as if he's just now realizing the weight of his words. Because, yeah, Jimmy actually opened up here.

"'M sorry," Robert says. He sounds like he means it.

Jimmy takes a drink. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you. It didn't take you very long at all to guess that I'm a vampire. Is there any particular reason for that?"

"It was a crazy, random guess. My crazy, random guesses aren't s'posed to be right," Robert says with a chuckle. "But I maintain a lot of faith in the existence of the fantastical. You know, dragons, witches, faeries, the whole lot. Maybe they don't exist now, but I believe they did at some point. So, it's not too much of a stretch for me to add 'vampires' to that list."

"A normal person would still be coming to terms with all of this."

"Yes, well, obviously I'm not a normal person."

"Understatement of the century," Jimmy teases, earning a pouty look from Robert. "There are far worse people to be stuck with for eternity, though."

They don't get drunk, but Jimmy thinks spending the rest of his existence with Robert might not be so bad after all.

* * *

Robert wasn't entirely wrong when he raved about how immortality opens up countless opportunities. Jimmy's always been pretty adept at playing guitar, but since the bite he's had nothing but time to hone his craft. He's managed to create countless new riffs and melodies, stringing them together into full-fledged songs. And he's never had an audience for it until Robert.

"Amazing!" Robert gushes with a smattering of applause. "You're fantastic."

Jimmy smirks. "You'd be surprised what facing an eternity can do for you."

They're sitting in one of the guest rooms—which has now become Robert's room—with Jimmy poised on the edge of the bed while Robert sits at his feet, captivated by every note. "You taught yourself after you were bitten?" Robert asks.

Jimmy shakes his head. "I played for quite some time before that. I was a studio musician, then I played in the Yardbirds—"

"That was you?" Robert exclaims, eyes gone wide in stunned surprise.

"There were others before I came into the group," Jimmy says dismissively. "But, yes, most of my work was featured on the  _Little Games_  album."

Robert looks sad suddenly, as if Jimmy's said something wrong. "How horrible the bite must have been for you, to take all of that away."

Jimmy chuckles, realizing Robert's misunderstood. "The group split up before I turned. I was actually in the process of trying to create another group when it happened."

Robert's voice goes soft. "Still... It must have been awful, having so much to look forward to, then it's just... gone."

Jimmy wonders if Robert's speaking of his own experiences here, just a bit. He shrugs. "There's no sense in angsting over it." His hands work the guitar strings, strumming a melancholy tune. Robert listens, enraptured. Jimmy imagines how the music must sound to him with such expanded senses, everything so sharp and new.

Robert sighs happily and leans back on his hands. His eyes are closed in contentment. "I want to go out today," he says, a smile on his lips. "And I want you to come with me."

Jimmy stops playing, stares at Robert incredulously. "But we just came back."

The shake of Robert's head sends his blond curls swaying. "Not to hunt, to  _live_. What sort of life is it, just holing yourself up here? I want to desensitize myself to the scent of humans so I can live amongst them."

Jimmy resists the urge to roll his eyes or make his exasperation known. He sets the guitar on the bed and fixes Robert with an intent stare. "It only takes one moment, one fraction of a second to make a fatal mistake," he warns.

Robert nods. "I know. But when Maureen was here"—he hesitates briefly, as if the name alone gives him pause—"I didn't feel some all-consuming urge to... you know. It was manageable. I don't know if it's worse for you, but if it is, I could help you deal with it."

Jimmy wants to say no, but something about Robert's optimism is endearing somehow. God help him, Jimmy's actually  _growing fond_   _of_   _Robert_.

"You can't just stay in here forever," Robert says. "You've got to spread your wings, you know, like a butterfly. See the world, say 'hello' to someone, pet a dog."

Jimmy exhales a world-weary sigh. "Alright, but if anything horrible happens it's going to be entirely your fault," he says as he packs his guitar away and stands up.

Robert nearly explodes with joy.

There's a stretch of neighborhood not too far from the cottage, so they head north, passing by quaint little homes and beacons of civilization. Jimmy can smell the traces of humanity as they walk. Children drive around on bicycles or play football. The smell of freshly-cut grass hangs in the air. People linger on their front lawns, chatting with neighbors. Jimmy swallows back the venom rising in his throat and shuts his lungs off.

Robert's gawking at everything around him, like he's never been outside before. But his childlike awe pauses when Jimmy tenses, hands tightening in discomfort.

"How are you holding up?" Robert asks. Even through his sunglasses, there's so much concern in his eyes Jimmy feels the need to look away.

"I'm fine," Jimmy says through his teeth.

"That doesn't sound fine."

Jimmy watches the stretch of homes pass by as they walk. "How do you do it, Robert?"

Robert shrugs, kicks at a pebble on the ground. "I don't know. I've always been somewhat of a pacifist, someone who feels very deeply. Maybe that carried over somehow into this new life."

Jimmy makes a sound that says he's listening. The breeze blows his hair back, and a gust of safe air floods his nose. "Maybe supernatural self-control is your gift."

"So what's yours, then?"

"I haven't discovered it yet. I don't know what's normal for our kind and what isn't. For all I know, your sense of self-control could be the baseline, and  _I'm_  the freak." Jimmy smirks.

Robert doesn't find the humor in his words. "You're not a freak. You just haven't had any practice."

A man walks by them with a dog on a leash. The scent punches straight down Jimmy's throat like a fistful of flames. Robert glances at Jimmy, almost apologetically, and Jimmy tightens his hands, barely stopping his stride. Because as mouthwatering as that human smells, that scent doesn't hold a candle to Robert's. So Jimmy takes a bit of comfort in that, at least, that maybe Robert was the most tempting thing he'll ever smell. An outlier. An anomaly.

They continue on the path for quite some time. Robert watches Jimmy's every twitch and tense, keeps him engaged in conversation to distract him from the longing of thirst.

"When did your eyes go back to normal?" Robert asks as they move into a more populous area.

"I don't remember exactly." Jimmy's breathing spikes, because he's never been around this many people in months. It's not just the scents that spur the dry ache in his throat; it's the loud, wet sounds of heartbeats, the thrum and heat of pulsing blood. He's gambling on his poor self-control with innocent humans as guinea pigs. There's no way he won't fuck this up.

Jimmy shuts out his panic, tries to focus on the question. "I stayed in the cottage for a long time, only venturing out to hunt."

"You never looked in a mirror?"

"Why would I? To see the monster I'd become?" Jimmy snarls under his breath, growing increasingly impatient with his instincts. Why can't he control himself the way Robert seems to? For Christ's sake, Robert's a newborn vampire—Jimmy should be the one holding  _him_  back.

Robert seems to sense the mounting tension. "But your bloodlust waned, because your eyes are green now," he reminds him.

"Not for long," Jimmy grumbles, and Robert gasps a sound of shock.

"Don't say that. Have some faith in yourself."

But Jimmy's shaking his head, because it's all too much. He can catch every scent, hear every wet, throbbing heartbeat. Instinct rules completely, and Jimmy feels his self-control eroding with every warm pulse of blood in vulnerable, human throats.

"I have to get away from here," Jimmy pleads, caught in the fiery grip of temptation.

Robert's hand latches around Jimmy's wrist, a gesture so intimate Jimmy almost jerks away from it. "Then let's go."

Thickets of trees spread out in every direction, so Robert doesn't have to go very far to find a safe space for Jimmy to recover. Once they're hidden in the forest, Robert darts through the trees like a comet, pulling Jimmy along as far as he can until the scent of humanity behind them is lost completely.

Jimmy holds his breath, his body shaking with cravings and internalized fury at his lack of self-control. A fucking newborn vampire shouldn't be able to best him in controlling thirst. That takes practice and skill, yet Robert's barely been a vampire for a week and he's already mastered it. This is an outrage.

Robert slows to a stop when they're far enough away from the scent. Jimmy just drops to the forest floor and buries his head in his hands. Fuck Jimmy's life. Why couldn't he have just died and been spared this loathsome, miserable existence?

"It's okay," Robert says, trying to sound reassuring, but in Jimmy's ears it just rings as pity. "No one masters anything on their first try—"

"No, Robert, it's not fucking  _okay_ ," Jimmy snaps, his face a hard mask of rage. "Maybe if you weren't so goddamn optimistic all the time, you'd realize that some people are, in fact, hopeless!" He gets to his feet and advances on Robert. "I was doing just fine until you came along and cocked everything up! Take your self-control and piss off!"

Robert looks like he might start crying, which, God no, please don't; Jimmy doesn't know how to handle waterworks. And, sure, vampires can't cry, but he's not putting anything past Robert at this point. "I'm just trying to help," he says in the most pathetic voice Jimmy's ever heard. Jesus. "I'm sorry. I wish I could make this easier for you. But you can't just quit."

Jimmy scoffs. "Watch me." He turns his back on Robert, starts walking in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. And I'm going to stay there, like I was before you decided to waltz in and ruin my life."

"So that's it, then? You're just going to give up?"

"There's a difference between giving up and realizing one's limitations," Jimmy says, turning to look at him. "Just because you've got some freakish sense of self-control doesn't mean I do. Just like how I can play guitar and you can't."

"But that's only because you've had practice," Robert says, at Jimmy's side in a second. "You could be good at this, too, if you'd only try."

"Yeah, well, look what happened when I  _did_."

"Nothing happened. You didn't hurt anyone." Robert looks confused, like he can't understand why Jimmy's frustrated. "You were... rational. You knew your limit and took yourself out of the situation before it overwhelmed you. And you weren't just around one person. There were, what, ten, twenty people out there? You should be proud you lasted that long in such a crowd."

Jimmy never thought about it that way, but that doesn't mean he still doesn't feel like shit.

"You don't like learning from me, do you?" Robert's mouth twists into a pout of offense for a moment when Jimmy doesn't deny it. "I don't know why I'm able to do this. It feels more like a curse than a blessing, seeing as I can't relate to you, or the rest of our kind, if we ever find any. But as long as I have this ability, I want to use it to help you. Maybe you could teach me something to even the scales?"

Apparently there's nothing about vampirism Jimmy could teach him. Maybe he'll just have to settle for teaching Robert guitar.

* * *

Robert continues Jimmy's lessons on bleak, overcast days when the sun's hiding behind the clouds. In return, or, perhaps, in vengeance, Jimmy tutors Robert in the fine art of playing guitar. He feels a twisted surge of satisfaction when Robert pouts or grunts in frustration, because, yeah, it's about time  _something_  didn't come easily to him.

But Robert seems happy to endure the indignity of actually learning something if it means he can drag Jimmy out into the world and torment him as long as Jimmy can stand it. To his credit—and Robert's glee—Jimmy's getting better, albeit slowly. He still gets shaky and panicky at the scent, which pisses him off, because Robert's able to walk alongside him like everything's fine and fucking dandy.

Thursday is too sunny for them to venture out, so Jimmy spends the day teaching Robert a complicated guitar piece he'd put together.

Around midnight, Robert says he's going out to hunt, that he'd prefer some alone time. Jimmy wants to protest—it's not as if the house doesn't offer a decent amount of solitude—but, whatever. So Jimmy acquiesces with a shrug and goes back to plucking out a new song on his guitar.

After an hour's passed by, Jimmy starts to worry—no, he's not worried: he's concerned. There's a difference. To worry implies mindless panic, but concern carries with it a thoughtfulness that's absent in a frantic, anxious state. So, yes, he's concerned as to Robert's whereabouts, briefly wonders if Robert might have bitten someone before shutting that train of thought down entirely. Of course Robert wouldn't lose control; he's far too perfect for that.

Jimmy's upper lip curls at the thought. He knows his bitter jealousy is childish and unfair, but, really, it's unfair that Robert had to come along and ruin everything Jimmy had going here. So Robert can just fucking deal with the occasional contemptuous glance or growl.

Jimmy's gaze darts to the clock on the wall. He really hopes Robert's alright.

Two hours into Robert's disappearance, Jimmy hears footsteps approaching the house, shoes crunching on gravel. The front door opens. A familiar scent wafts through the house and slams into Jimmy's olfactory senses like a wrecking ball. He's on his feet immediately, rushing downstairs to the source of the smell. Christ, he never thought he'd smell blood that sweet again—

It takes a good half-second for Jimmy to notice the absence of a heartbeat. Oh, fuck, did Robert bite someone and drag the body here?

When Jimmy reaches the bottom of the stairs, he gets his answers. Robert's standing in the foyer holding a bulging duffel bag. The bag isn't human-shaped, and it's not stained with or dripping blood, so there's probably not a body—or body parts—in there.

"What ho, mate," Robert greets him, cheer emanating from every pore. Jesus, he's like a literal fucking ray of sunshine.

A growl rips through Jimmy's throat, and he sneers at the bag Robert's holding. A shirt sleeve flops uselessly out of the bag, dangling over the side. "Robert," he sneers, his voice a low rumble.

Robert moves closer, oblivious to—or just ignoring—Jimmy's ire. "I thought maybe I could expedite the whole desensitization process," he says, unzipping the bag. The full force of the scent wallops Jimmy's senses; he shuts off his lungs in response. "So I went back to my flat and grabbed some old clothes and sheets, y'know, for the scent."

Jimmy takes a step back. He remembers how that blood had tasted, the hot gush of it on his tongue... "You cannot be serious."

"You burned the sheets I actually bled on, so I improvised," Robert says with a shrug, as if he can't see what the problem is here. "You said I had the sweetest blood you ever smelled. If you can get used to my scent, the rest of the human world ought to be a breeze."

"You went out there  _alone_?"

Robert rolls his eyes. "I thought you trusted me."

"You lived in Stourport," Jimmy says. The past tense part of that sentence disturbs him; does that mean Robert lives here now? "That's not exactly a brisk walk away."

"It is if you're a vampire."

Jimmy glares at him. "You could have—"

"But I didn't." Robert drops the bag at Jimmy's feet. The scent blooms upward in an invisible cloud, and Jimmy reflexively covers his nose and mouth with a hand. "What are you afraid will happen?" Robert asks, and it's obvious they're not talking about him anymore. "You can't bite me—if you did, I think I'd put up a fair fight." He chuckles, but the sound wilts in his throat when he sees Jimmy's livid expression.

"You realize I don't have anyplace safe now," Jimmy snarls.

"Just go outside for a spell, then."

"Because that worked out so well for us when you first came 'round." Jimmy's hands tighten into fists. God, it's like Robert does this shit on purpose. "Maybe there's no such thing as vampires after all. Maybe I'm dead and this is my own personal hell."

"Screw you," Robert bites out. "I could have just gone on my way and left you here to rot for an eternity. But no, I decided to help you, out of the kindness of my dumb old heart. Excuse me for giving a shit about you."

Jimmy grits his teeth and unclenches his fists. This stoic, grumpy curmudgeon routine hasn't really made things easier; it might benefit Jimmy to be nice and open to Robert's ideas. Really, Robert's only trying to help, doing the best he can with the knowledge he has about all this—which is probably dangerously close to none. He's doing the whole thing blind, stumbling around in the dark, and it's not like Jimmy can really help him on that front. But Robert's  _trying_ , which is a hell of a lot better than sitting around doing nothing.

And what does Robert get in return for all of this? Scorn, derision, and anger.

Jimmy does not much like himself right now.

He sighs, all the air going out of him, and picks up the bag.

* * *

Jimmy makes a habit of spending the next few nights in his bed, curled in Robert's human scent on the sheets. He tries to calm his shakes by throwing on a record or two, just to give him something else to focus on instead of the tempting aroma he's engulfed in. It doesn't seem to help, but it's comforting, at least, something familiar to cling to.

On Monday, the savage sun beats down like a drum, so Robert takes Jimmy into the cover of the woods for their daily hunt.

"You're making good progress," Robert tells him, crunching his way over leaves and fallen branches.

"Better than you're doing on guitar."

"It's not my fault you have freakish hands!" Robert protests. "Honestly, it's like you've got six fingers." He grabs Jimmy's hands and inspects them, as if verifying his hypothesis, scowls at them like they're unnatural somehow. "Weirdo."

Jimmy chuckles, and Robert lets go of him. "Oh, don't be sore just because you're not a master yet. That sort of thing takes a lifetime—or an eternity." He's slowly growing desensitized to the scent of human blood, so he thinks he's earned a little smugness. There's a faint wet smell in the air, but it doesn't smell human. Jimmy's never encountered it before, doesn't know whether to be on guard or not.

"Maybe I have that kind of time, but I don't want to spend the rest of my existence learning scales. Why can't you teach me how to play an actual song?"

"You've got to know the basics first."

"But the basics are boring. Can't we just—" Robert's complaint is cut off by a piercing scream, then there's a mammoth shape tackling him to the ground. The huge wolf sinks his teeth into Robert's arm. Robert cries a gutted noise of pain over the crack of bone.

The primordial part of Jimmy's brain takes over. Everything else takes a backseat to primitive instinct and pure rage. Jimmy launches himself forward, like a bullet from a gun, taking the wolf with him as he crashes into the trees with a force that seems to shake the entire forest.

The wolf snarls and opens his jaws. His teeth punch down through Jimmy's shoulder. A searing pain shoots through Jimmy, making his entire body flinch. But the pain means nothing to him now, as if his nerve endings are a garden hose blocked by a bend. The fury he's locked away over the past few months erupts like a volcano—anger at himself for not pinpointing the wolf's scent sooner, for biting Robert, for allowing himself to be bitten. But mostly he's pissed off at this asshole werewolf who wants to kill them.

Well, fuck that.

Jimmy slams his fist square into the wolf's snout. There's a loud cracking sound, and the creature wrenches away. Blood spills from its face. Jimmy doesn't let up, landing another blow that knocks the wolf backward. He catches the wolf unprotected and chews his way through the jugular, his teeth shredding through the skin as if it were made of gelatin.

The wolf howls an inhuman sound of agony and staggers back. Jimmy finishes the bite by tearing away and spitting out a hunk of flesh and fur. Blood sprays from the gaping wound in the wolf's neck. The creature begins to shrink, a slow reversion to its human form. Its russet fur becomes skin, enormous claws retract into fingernails.

That's when the pain in Jimmy's arm hits him all at once. It nearly blinds him and knocks him to his knees, but the wolf-man's snarling in a way that no one could possibly consider friendly. A vicious growl rips through the creature's teeth as a shudder heaves through his body.

Jimmy kicks at one of the wolf-man's bent knees, forcing it back the wrong way. Wolf-Man yowls and drops to the bracken on the forest floor. Jimmy's teeth slice straight through Wolf-Man's neck. The sticky warmth of blood on his face nearly blinds him. Wolf-Man's head falls to the ground and rolls over the leaves.

The threat vanquished, Jimmy feels the adrenaline ebb. He steps away from the headless corpse. He can taste the rust of blood on his tongue, can smell it on his clothes and in the air, but there's no temptation to drink it. Must be a werewolf thing.

Jimmy risks a glance at the oval object on the ground, its mouth open in a silenced scream. He knows that look will haunt him for a long time; it's one of the worst things he's ever seen. The forest is impossibly still now. Jimmy goes cold all over.

"Pagey, are you okay?" Robert asks in a low, shaky voice.

Jimmy turns slowly to face him. Robert's managed to move only scant few feet away from Jimmy. His eyes are wary and afraid. Jimmy just stares, bewildered, because  _he killed someone_.

Robert moves toward him with exaggerated slowness. He's spattered with blood, covering the wound on his arm with his hand, and he might be shaking a little from terror. "Your—your shoulder... "

Jimmy winces at the gush of pain. "It'll heal," he manages to say.

Robert's eyes widen. "We can do that?"

"If given enough time, yes."

"So you've—you've encountered those  _things_  before?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "I tested it."

Robert grasps the meaning there, and his face crumples in agony. "Oh, Pagey..." He moves closer, still cautious, as if he's worried Jimmy might attack him. "We need to get back to the cabin."

"Not yet," Jimmy says, casting a quick glance at the corpse.

They take the body to a clearing west of the woods. Jimmy, still shock-numb, dismembers the headless corpse and gathers the quivering limbs in a pile. Robert sprinkles dry pine needles over the body. Jimmy takes his lighter out of his pocket and flips it on. The flame erupts once it touches the dry tinder.

For a while, they just stand there, staring at the fire as the flames climb and thick smoke billows upwards. Jimmy doesn't know what happened. Part of him's always known what he's capable of. He never forgot, just didn't think about it. But he knows it wasn't bloodlust that fueled him. He hadn't even smelled the wolf until it was too late. By the time the wolf phased back, blood was the last thing on Jimmy's mind.

Had it been revenge?

Jimmy glances at Robert out of the corner of his eye. Sure, his arm's a little mangled, but he'll heal. Maybe he'll have a nasty scar, but he wasn't fatally wounded. So why had Jimmy gone for broke like that?

"What was that thing?" Robert asks. "A werewolf?"

Jimmy nods. "I think so. I've never actually seen one before."

"That's why you didn't recognize the scent," Robert says, like he's only just realized it himself. Jimmy doesn't answer, and Robert turns away from the pyre to fix him with his serious face. "Pagey, you didn't do anything wrong. You were protecting me."

Jimmy shakes his head. "You're a newborn. You could have killed him in half the time."

But Robert's comment nibbles around the edges of Jimmy's brain. Had he been protecting Robert, or was there something deeper at play?

The smoke smells like burning incense. Jimmy scrunches his nose at the scent, too heavy and strong in his nostrils.

Robert's watching him a little too intently, as if searching for clues as to Jimmy's thoughts. Jimmy wonders what he's thinking, if Robert's still afraid of him.

"I don't know why I did it," Jimmy confesses. "I didn't have to—I shouldn't have—" He rubs a hand over his blood-caked face.

Robert lays a hand on Jimmy's good shoulder. "He attacked me. You had every reason to fight back."

" _Fight_ ," Jimmy says, putting emphasis on the word. "Not kill. I was just... so angry."

"About what?"

"Everything. Becoming what we are, turning you, letting my guard down and getting us attacked... And he hurt  _you_."

Robert's all frown and worry, as if sympathizing with Jimmy's pain means he has to feel it too. "Maybe when you create a vampire you become extra protective over them."

Jimmy shakes his head again. "But that doesn't make any sense. Newborns are always stronger and faster."

"Emotions don't always make sense," Robert says with a shrug, turning back to the fire. "They're strange and illogical, it's a wonder they haven't been pruned out of this existence, y'know? But they're what makes life worth living, I think. What good is an experience if it doesn't make you feel something?"

"I don't know what I'm feeling," Jimmy says, sounding frustrated, fragile, and helpless.

* * *

Three days later, Robert finds Jimmy drinking in the study. "I thought you said we couldn't get wasted."

Jimmy shrugs and takes a drink. "Maybe this time I'll get lucky." His back is turned, but he just knows Robert's rolling his eyes.

"Come on now, surely you can't still be moping about that werewolf bloke," Robert asks, dropping into the chair across from him. "Yes, it's unfortunate it had to happen that way, but if you hadn't done what you did we might not be here now."

Jimmy doesn't buy any of the bullshit Robert's trying to peddle here. He glares over the rim of the glass. "Are you really so blasé about me taking another life? I thought you had a very staunch anti-murder stance."

"It's not murder if they're trying to kill you," Robert argues. "That's self-defense."

"Semantics."

Robert huffs a sigh, puffing one of his blonde curls out of his face. "You're incorrigible."

Jimmy spreads his hands. "So you finally understand."

"What would you do if it had been me? What if I killed him instead?"

Jimmy glances off, bites his lips together. He'd probably reassure Robert that it had to be done, give him the same lame-ass pep talk Robert's giving him now. But that's because Jimmy knows Robert's spirit; he's a good person—er, vampire. He wouldn't harm anyone unless push came to shove. Jimmy, on the other hand... well, he already had one unfortunate victim under his belt before Wolf-Man came along.

"But you didn't," Jimmy finally says. "And I don't think you would have unless it was the last resort."

The fireplace casts Robert in an ethereal, almost heavenly glow; Jimmy feels a whirlwind of emotions cascade through him. Robert tilts his head. "Are you saying you  _wanted_  to kill him?"

Jimmy shrugs his good shoulder and doesn't meet Robert's eyes. "I'm saying I think there were other avenues of solving the problem."

Robert hears the subtext there and nods slowly. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Jimmy stares at the amber liquid in his glass for a moment. The room's silent save for the crackle of burning wood in the fireplace—they don't need the heat, just the ambience. "Ever since I was bitten, I've kept all this frustration pent up inside of me. That anger magnified ten-fold after I bit you. Then ten-fold again when you turned and just... adapted to this lifestyle with such a maddening ease. I still don't know if you're just an extraordinary specimen or if I'm remarkably awful at controlling myself."

Robert watches him with such an intense focus Jimmy has to look away.

"It's unfortunate that werewolf had to come along and become the target for all these months of repressed anger," Jimmy says.

Robert sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It's such a human gesture, but it works on him. He abandons the topic, probably realizing he's not going to get anywhere here. "How are you healing up?"

"A few more days, I think. How about yourself?"

Robert pushes up his sleeve to reveal the nasty-looking scars on his arm. They're two long silver crescents around the inside of his elbow. There's some grotesque purple discoloration around the edges of the wound, but Jimmy knows that will fade by the end of the week. "It doesn't hurt," Robert says, as if sensing Jimmy's distress. "It's just... kind of numb."

The first day, the numbness had been so bad Robert could barely twitch his fingers. This is a serious improvement.

"How'd you come to live here anyway?" Robert asks after a moment.

"After I was bitten, I couldn't stay in my old place anymore. Though it was rather secluded, I could still smell the humans' scents. It was too much. I remembered hearing about this place and decided to check it out. I got lucky that no one was living here."

Robert frowns and does that scrunching thing with his body that means he's uncomfortable with something.

"What?" Jimmy prods.

"You'll laugh. Or think I've gone completely mad."

"Try me."

Robert shifts his gaze a few times before finally looking at Jimmy again. "I think—I think this place is haunted."

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Jimmy says with zero hesitation.

Robert's mouth drops open. "You've seen the spirits, too?"

Jimmy makes a noncommital gesture. "With our heightened senses, it's hard not to." Robert's staring at him in disbelief, his face going through some sort of horrified wince. "This used to be a workhouse for the poor and insane. I'm not surprised there's things roaming about. It's had a miserable past."

"And, um, you chose to live here, is that right? You actually made a conscious decision to make your home in a house that's haunted?" Robert looks like he doesn't know whether to be horrified or feel sad for Jimmy. "Congratulations on your life choices, Pagey. I worry about you."

Jimmy chuckles, because Robert's shock and concern is kind of adorable.

Robert shakes away his stunned expression. "Where did you used to live?" Then, as if reconsidering: "No, wait, don't tell me. It's probably someplace creepy, like a crematorium or a graveyard."

"It was a boathouse. In Pangbourne."

Robert blinks in surprise. "That sounds... suspiciously normal. Was it haunted too? Or previously owned by Jack the Ripper?"

Jimmy laughs. "No, don't be ridiculous."

"Oh,  _that's_  ridiculous, but living in bloody haunted house is a completely sane and rational decision?" Robert scoffs, shakes his head. "What happened to it?"

"I just left," Jimmy says simply.

"Do you think it's still there?"

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "It ought to be. A lot of people buy property there for summer homes and whatnot. A prolonged absence wouldn't raise suspicion. Why?"

Robert wrings his hands. Another painfully human gesture. "Maybe it's time to move back," he says with a crooked smile that would knock Jimmy back a step if he wasn't sitting down. "I mean, you've gotten so much better at resisting the scent of human blood, and living within a fair distance of them would be a nice way to, uh, practice, if you will."

"Which couldn't possibly end badly for us."

Robert rolls his eyes at Jimmy's sarcasm. "Of course, you'd rather live in the haunted house. Forgive me for suggesting a semblance of something normal."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to visit, at least," Jimmy says. "If I remember correctly, there were decent hunting grounds not too far away from the house."

"Does that mean we can go?" Robert asks with way too much enthusiasm. It's like he views visiting Jimmy's old house with as much excitement as a trip to the fair. Ridiculous. And maybe a bit endearing, if Jimmy's honest with himself.

"Alright, we can go. But if something horrible happens, I'm blaming you entirely."

Robert grins like he doesn't even care.

* * *

The boathouse along the river Thames is still intact, of course, just as Jimmy knew it would be. While Jimmy scours the inside to make sure nothing's been stolen, Robert marvels at the ceiling-high bookshelves filled with books and records.

"What a treasure trove!" Robert gasps, running his fingers over the spines of the books, as if he can absorb the contents through his fingertips. "How many books do you even own?"

"Just these," Jimmy answers from upstairs. "The library at Headley Grange was there before I arrived."

"I suppose that's a good thing. Better to read entirely new books than ones you've memorized, you know?"

Jimmy's pleased to see that his guitar collection is undisturbed by thievery. Apparently none of the neighbors noticed he'd been gone for a good amount of time. Technically, Jimmy died in here and no one even knew or heard the screams. That's one of the most depressing thoughts he's had in a while.

As Jimmy descends the staircase, he finds Robert thumbing through his record collection. "Seems we share similar tastes in music," Robert says, gleeful as he sorts through the stack of LPs in his hand. "We could have been mates in our past lives."

A short noise that sounds like a laugh breaks out of Jimmy's throat. "And we're not now?"

"I usually don't make friends with grumpy folk," Robert says simply.

Jimmy doesn't know how to feel about that, doesn't know why the idea of not being Robert's friend bothers him so much. "Unfortunately, you're the only person I know anymore, so by default that makes you my best mate."

Robert looks up from the records and smiles that stupid smile, the one Jimmy's incapable of hating. It's like he's overjoyed that he's someone's best friend, even if that someone is the curmudgeonly Jimmy Page. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to tell you you're my best mate, too?"

"It would be nice," Jimmy says with a smirk.

Robert laughs and shakes his head, goes back to looking through Jimmy's record collection. Jimmy knows he shouldn't feel so weirdly unhappy about that, because he hasn't made much of an effort to connect with Robert. Actually, if he's honest with himself, he's been a hell of a douche. So much of a douche that Robert knows a grand total of one other person since his transformation, yet he'd still rather withhold judgment than declare Jimmy his best friend.

_Lighten the fuck up, Page._

Jimmy moves into the room instead of standing there by the stairs like he's uncomfortable in his own home. "You'd rather stay here, then?"

"Yes, of course—" Robert freezes, his eyes wide. "Wait, are you suggesting I stay here and you go back to that horrible haunted house?"

"God, no. Someone's got to keep an eye on you."

Robert frowns at first, then his expression softens into something resembling a smile. "Oh, did you just make a joke?"

"I make plenty of jokes. It's not my fault you don't find them funny."

"Pretty sure it is your fault," Robert argues, but there's no heat to it.

No one's ever made Jimmy as angry and frustrated and insane as Robert, yet there's something delightful about him that Jimmy just can't shake. He isn't sure he wants to.

* * *

When Jimmy's not wearing out his tired record collection, he's continuing Robert's musical education on guitar and getting a little too much enjoyment out of Robert's agitated groans when he makes a mistake. It's not like Jimmy  _wants_  Robert to fail, but after watching Robert excel at his new life with few difficulties, well, Jimmy feels like he's owed this.

Friday evening is warm and bright, but the sunshine can't stop Robert from dragging Jimmy out of the house. Robert just opens a parasol above them to keep the light away, and Jimmy has rarely felt this stupid in his entire life. Robert talks animatedly and at length as they walk, tugs on Jimmy's arm when he lags behind.

They're passing through Windsor when Jimmy says, "Alright, where are we going, Robert?"

Robert's smile just won't quit. He's such a goddamn ray of sunshine; maybe that's why Jimmy feels a little nauseous around him. "It's a surprise."

Jimmy has every right to be worried about that. "Oh... Do I get a hint?"

"No, but I think you'll like it!" Robert picks up his speed and rockets through the green maze of trees. Jimmy follows closely behind, branches flying by at deadly speeds.

The sun's sinking below the horizon when they reach Hyde Park. There's a throng of people already gathered there before a massive stage, but the first thing that strikes Jimmy's senses is the smell. It's not an alluring smell, not the scent of blood barely concealed behind silk-soft skin. Rather, it's a dank odor that stings his nose and makes him stop breathing entirely.

Ah, the fragrance of patchouli and marijuana.

Robert laughs at the way Jimmy's face scrunches up. "It's better this way, isn't it? You can't smell the humans over that."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." It's not like Robert's wrong, but the idea of two vampires surrounded by humans who are blazed out of their minds cannot possibly end well. "By 'surprise' did you mean 'slaughter'?"

Robert scoffs like Jimmy's being ridiculous. "It's gonna be fine. Trust me." He drops down on the green, far enough away from the tempting thrum of human heartbeats. He pats the grass next to him. "Come on. Sit. Enjoy yourself for once."

Jimmy looks around, as if suspecting some sort of supernatural evil is afoot. Few good things have come from Robert's undeterred optimism. All he sees spread out before him are stoned concert-goers and the promise of music, so Jimmy cautiously sits beside Robert. He doesn't like shutting off his sense of smell for too long, but it's not like he smelled that werewolf, so maybe his olfactory senses are kind of shit for detecting danger.

By the time night falls, the band takes the stage, and Jimmy immediately recognizes the frontman with the Stratocaster and the psychedelic clothes. "Jimi Hendrix?"

Robert grins at Jimmy's disbelief. "The Jimi Hendrix  _Experience_ ," he corrects.

Jimmy leans back on his hands, his hair falling in waves over his shoulders. "I thought you preferred the more classic style of blues."

"I like all kinds of music. Besides, he's a guitarist, you're a guitarist..." Robert gestures in a way that's supposed to complete that sentence.

Jimmy smiles to himself and lets the music drown out the manic pulse of heartbeats.

Throughout the concert, Jimmy's acutely aware of Robert watching him, which is disconcerting, because Hendrix is doing all sorts of crazy shit with his guitar that has to be seen to be believed. During a lull between songs, Jimmy glances over at Robert and hisses, "Would you please stop staring at me?"

Robert pulls that crooked smile of his and huffs a laugh. "I'm sorry, it's just—I think I'm witnessing a miracle here. I feel like I should have a camera to capture the moment." He pauses for a moment. "Wait, do we show up on film or is that another myth?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're happy," Robert says simply. "I've never seen you smile this much. Actually, I didn't know you even knew how to be happy. I thought 'grumpy' was your default emotion."

Jimmy forces his facial muscles into a neutral position and stares straight ahead at the stage. "Honestly, Robert, you're the only person I know who can go to a concert and not pay attention to the band. You're ridiculous." But he's not denying that he's happy, because he's come a hell of a long way from the reclusive vampire he'd been only a month or so ago.

Someday he'll stop being amazed at how Robert's turned his existence upside down. Eventually Robert will run out of ways to help Jimmy, then it will be Jimmy's chance to return the favor.

After the show, the crowd lingers on the green, marinating in the good vibes and clouds of smoke billowing into the air. Jimmy and Robert leave the scene behind and dart through the midnight forests, feeling the cool forest air whipping against their faces. By the time they reach the Pangbourne boathouse, Jimmy realizes what this evening actually was, and that he's the biggest fucking moron on the face of the earth.

"Did you just take me on a date?"

Robert whirls around to face him, his heel spinning over the dirt walkway. "Don't be ridiculous, Pagey. Can't a guy take another bloke to a concert without it being a date?" Robert protests, but there's a nervous edge to the smile on his mouth.

"Actually, no. That's absolutely a date. Do you fancy me, Robert?" Jimmy teases, because now that he has an embarrassing secret to poke at, he's never going to let it go.

If vampires could blush, Robert's face would be red right about now. "Shut up, no, I don't." He turns away and keeps walking along the path. "You're not even my type anyway. If—If I was into blokes, I mean."

Jimmy snorts a laugh. "Whatever you say, buttercup."

"Fuck you," Robert snaps, but Jimmy doesn't hear any real anger there.

Jimmy chuckles at him until they get inside the house.

* * *

It takes a few days for Robert to get back to his usual level of unfettered enthusiasm, but once he does he's taking Jimmy on another grand adventure into the human world.

"Come on, Pagey," he whines, tugging at Jimmy's long sleeves. "We ought to learn about what we are, don't you think?"

Jimmy makes a noncommital noise and lets Robert pull him in the direction of the library. He's getting better at being around humans, but he feels like he should put up some resistance just out of principle.

"If you had more books about this kind of thing, we wouldn't have to come here," Robert reminds him, at which Jimmy rolls his eyes and makes a face when Robert's not looking.

Once they get inside, Jimmy's entire body feels the relief of a lack of sunlight, but the smell of blood lingers throughout the building, burning his throat. A low growl rips through him, and Robert cuts him a glare. "Must you do that?"

"Yes, I must," Jimmy seethes through his teeth.

Robert sighs like Jimmy's existence pains him somehow. Smart-ass. "Well, stop it. It's undignified." He leads Jimmy through the library, following the signs to the proper section.

"... _You're_  undignified." Robert's awful comebacks are rubbing off on him. There is no God.

Robert ignores Jimmy's petulance and pulls him between the bookshelves. Might as well make the best of this excursion. Jimmy scans the spines until he finds a promising title. He flips through the pages. Most of the sections detail different vampire myths held around the world. Few of them even mention the preoccupation with drinking blood. In fact, very few of them match what Jimmy's come to learn about himself.

It takes about twenty minutes before Robert scurries over to him, holding an ancient-looking book in his hands. "Have you seen this?" he asks, holding the book out for Jimmy and pointing to a particular passage:

_Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of_ _all evil vampires._

Robert gives him a meaningful look. "See? I told you."

Jimmy scoffs, rolls his eyes out of habit, but maybe Robert's onto something after all.

"Let me see that?"

Robert happily surrenders the book, flitting off down the aisle for another to hold his attention. Jimmy searches through the pages. Halfway through the book, he finds a heading that makes him pause:

_La tua cantante: a human whose blood appeals to a vampire in an extreme sense._

He reads on. The passage describes a phenomenon where a particular human's blood can smell near irresistable to a vampire. The more appealing the scent, the more difficult it is for that vampire to leave the human alive.

"Singers," as they're called, vary from one vampire to the next. A person whose blood sings to one vampire may not be as appealing to another.

Jimmy considers this. Had Robert been Jimmy's own singer? It's not as if he hadn't encountered the scent of human blood before. He smelled humans before Robert came along; none of them had blood that smelled as sweet.

Apparently, a vampire can have more than one singer, which, oh, that's lovely. As if one wasn't bad enough.

Jimmy reads the end of the passage and feels his heart crawl into his throat:  _Singers, with their mouth-watering scent and taste, are speculated to be toxic. Consuming too much of their blood, as a vampire is compelled to do, is tantamount to drinking poison. Scholars theorize that singers exist to control the vampire population._

Jimmy remembers the way his stomach fought against Robert's blood, how he'd retched into the grass and felt like the world was burning and spinning and crumbling under his feet.

He doesn't realize he's standing there in stunned silence until Robert sidles up alongside him. "Did you find something interesting?"

Jimmy can't speak, can't even move, so Robert swipes the book from his hands and scans over the text. And he  _gets it_  now, because he looks at Jimmy like he suddenly understands all the mysteries of the universe.

"I'm your singer, aren't I?" Robert asks, a playful smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. "You said I made you sick, as if you'd been poisoned."

Because he had been. He'd come so close to death and he hadn't even  _known_.

The irresistible pull Jimmy felt towards Robert makes a hell of a lot more sense now. But it doesn't explain why he still feels it even now, after Robert's blood has burned away.

What if... What if a singer is the true test of a vampire's virtue? A selfish, gluttonous vampire would feast on his singer and die from poisoning. But a vampire who could stop himself, or resist the scent entirely, might just be rewarded for his restraint.

Rewarded in the way of a mate, a companion.

Is that what Robert is to him?

Jimmy looks at Robert's stunning face and feels the world shift back into place.

As a vampire, Jimmy no longer feels the physical desire for sex, but he still longs for an emotional connection with another being. Someone to live with. Someone to share in his hopes and dreams and joys and sorrows.

"It means something, doesn't it?" Robert says softly. "That you didn't—that you didn't kill me."

Jimmy finds himself nodding. He isn't sure if it means he's one of the good vampires, or if he just didn't want to be lonely anymore. It's probably the latter; Jimmy's never disillusioned himself by thinking he's noble. Robert's the one with a disproportionate amount of faith in him.

"I didn't want to be alone," Jimmy says.

"Seems like you'd've had an easier time turning someone who wasn't your singer." Is that an edge of smugness in Robert's voice? Un-fucking-believable.

And, well, he's not wrong. It would have been much simpler to turn a regular human, someone whose blood didn't call out to him and beckon to be feasted upon. So why Robert?

Jimmy scoffs. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say how I'm foolishly in love with you?"

"It would be nice," Robert says, entirely serious.

As much as Jimmy rolls his eyes at Robert's jokes and scoffs at his rainbows-and-smiles philosophy on life, he'd miss it all if Robert were no longer here.

So Jimmy tells him as much.

Robert smirks. "I suppose that's as heart-felt as you're going to get."

"On second thought, come here. I'll lay my head on your shoulder. We'll have a moment."

Robert scoffs, mutters, "Smart-arse," under his breath and walks away.

Jimmy thinks that, yeah, maybe he is a little in love with this idiot.

* * *

Robert has a knack for discovering all sorts of picturesque places Jimmy didn't even know existed. Right now, they're lying in a meadow outside of Pangbourne, clouds covering the sky. Patches of purple hyacinths and bluebells sprinkle color over the sea of tall grass. A forest of trees encroaches on all sides, secluding them from prying eyes. The grass ripples in the breeze, tickling Jimmy's skin as he looks for pictures in the clouds.

"I wonder how many more vampires there are out there," Robert says. "And now that we know werewolves exist... Just how many other supernatural creatures are real, too?"

"Knowing our luck, probably all of them."

Robert turns his head to look at him. "You don't sound very happy about that."

"Why should I be? Just more things that want to kill us."

"You don't know that for sure," Robert argues. "Some of them could be nice."

Jimmy sighs. "Why would nice monsters exist? The word itself precludes any good qualities."

Robert frowns at him, disapproving. "Calling them monsters is probably impolite, Pagey."

Jimmy pulls a face, and Robert punches Jimmy in the arm with extreme gentleness.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"I barely even tapped you."

Jimmy flicks at Robert's shoulder, and now they're officially four years old and they need to stop.

Robert doesn't retaliate. Big of him. He rises up, sitting amidst the rustling grass, his face turned toward the sky. Jimmy just watches him, curious as to the thoughts in his head.

"If you're right, and there are no nice monsters," Robert says, "then they might be out to hurt people. People who can't protect themselves."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. He feels like he knows where Robert's going with this, but he hangs in there just to make sure, because sometimes Robert's train of thought goes off the fucking rails.

"We should protect them. Maybe we could help people. Hunt down evil creatures that cause harm in the human world."

Jimmy gives him flat eyes. "That's the stupidest fucking thing you've ever said." Then, as if reconsidering: "This week." Robert ought to know by now that most of Jimmy's heated words are careless, a knee-jerk defense mechanism against the way Robert makes him feel.

Robert seems like he knows. "I'll convince you eventually," he says, tossing his gold curls over his shoulder in a totally manly way. "I got you to leave that awful haunted house, didn't I?"

"The view is better at the boathouse," Jimmy reasons.

"And I managed to get you out and into the human world with great success, didn't I?"

"You're going to break your arm patting yourself on the back like this." Jimmy slides his gaze over to Robert, and he's about to say something else when his brain stops working. Robert's eyes have shifted from blood red to shimmering blue, the same remarkable color he had in his human lifetime.

How long have his eyes been like this? Jimmy's fairly sure they were red when Robert led them to the meadow.

Robert blinks his beautiful eyes. "What?"

"Your eyes," Jimmy breathes out, awed. "They're blue again."

Robert's smile is shy and stunning. "Really? I didn't even notice." He laughs, gazes into Jimmy's eyes to see his own reflection there. "You're right. I wonder what it means. My theory is it's got something to do with the bloodlust, that maybe when you've gone long enough without human blood, your eyes go back to the way they were."

Robert tilts his head slightly. "What do you think?" Jimmy thinks he's goddamn beautiful. The angle of his jaw, the feline curve of his lips, the way he looks at Jimmy like he's something to be proud of. Robert is radiant, inside and out, and thinking about all the ways Jimmy wants him makes his head hurt.

So he stops thinking. "Hold still for a moment," Jimmy says, sitting up in the grass. "I want to try something."

Robert's totally agreeable, which makes it easier for Jimmy to press his mouth over Robert's own. Robert makes a quiet noise of surprise and lets Jimmy kiss him. Jimmy remembers how kissing felt in his human life, but it's an entirely different experience with Robert. He's able to taste Robert's vivid scent on his tongue and feel the silkiness of his mouth.

When Robert moans low in his throat, Jimmy feels it  _everywhere_.

Jimmy lifts a hand to Robert's face, traces his fingertips along his jawline with the slightest pressure. Robert hums contentment and presses him into the cool grass. "I knew I'd win you over eventually, Pagey," he gloats when Jimmy's lips move to his neck.

Jimmy kisses Robert's mouth, making speaking impossible. He nips at Robert's lower lip and digs a hand in his mess of curls. Robert pushes a hand underneath Jimmy's shirt, fingers like satin against his skin. "You didn't win me over," Jimmy argues, playful, because he wants to push more than he wants to bite. "I was curious if it's possible to actually shut you up."

Robert slots their mouths together this time, hard and unrestrained. He's still stronger than Jimmy, but Jimmy's not complaining. It's been ages since he's had this, been able to give and take with another as equals. Robert's fingers dig in around Jimmy's hip, and he pulls away for a moment to say, "Guess you'll have to kiss me all the time if you don't want me to talk."

Jimmy inhales the sweetness of his breath. "You're the worst."

Robert just smiles at him and shakes his head, his curls bouncing like springs. "I don't know why I even like you. You're the grumpiest vampire who ever lived."

"I'm not grumpy," Jimmy protests. "You're just overbearingly optimistic. Someone's got to be a realist in this begrudging relationship."

Robert smirks like he's scored a point somehow. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone I totally won you over."

Jimmy silences Robert with a kiss; he's becoming a pretty big fan of that tactic, and Robert doesn't seem to mind it either.

* * *

  _Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too was a gift._

~ Mary Oliver


End file.
